


The Wild Side

by knotted_rose



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Numb3rs
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Mild BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knotted_rose/pseuds/knotted_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amita didn't remember the walk from Charlie's garage, or how she got back to the parking lot on campus -- just that she did. She knew she was doing the right thing. She <i>knew</i> it. Charlie was charming, funny, and completely self-absorbed. It wouldn't matter how many times she pointed it out. He would never change.</p><p>And Amita needed more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wild Side

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place some time post season 5 Angel, and immediately following the 02x23 episode of Numb3rs, "Undercurrents".
> 
> Originally posted 13 September 2008
> 
> This was originally envisioned as 1 of 3, but I never wrote the other two pieces. This stands well enough on its own.

Amita didn't remember the walk from Charlie's garage, or how she got back to the parking lot on campus -- just that she did. She knew she was doing the right thing. She _knew_ it. Charlie was charming, funny, and completely self-absorbed. It wouldn't matter how many times she pointed it out. He would never change.

And Amita needed more. She'd rebelled against her parents for that very reason -- left an arranged marriage set up to satisfy everyone else's needs but her own.

After locking her car Amita angrily set off across campus. She _had_ to put her own career first. Anything else would be professional suicide. And though she hated to admit it, getting involved with her former professor and adviser was just doubly so. It didn't matter how nice his smile was, how beautifully he constructed a metaphor, how they seemed to connect sometimes . . . 

When the sounds of a fight reached Amita, and without thinking, she turned toward it. There were three figures fighting in that dark causeway between buildings -- no -- two. Where had all that dust come from?

Amita continued to walk forward, wanting to see the fighters. Some vague notion of being able to identify them later for Charlie or Don or maybe a sketch artist flitted through her head, but if she was being truthful, she just wanted to see.

However, the fight grew weirder as she drew closer. She finally made out that the shorter combatant was a girl -- woman -- and the taller one was either misshapen, or was wearing some kind of strange mask.

"Hey!" Amita called out when the guy strong-armed the woman against the wall. "Leave her alone or I'm calling the cops!"

"You think so missy?"

How the hell had he moved so quickly? He was practically beside her now.

"Not nice to stop dancing with the one who brought you," the woman chided.

The man moved too quickly for Amita to be able to see. He grabbed her and pulled her back against his chest. She was surprised at how cold his touch was. But as soon as she'd registered it, he was gone. More of that strange dust -- ash -- floated all around her. She stood, dazed, uncertain, the world shifting under her feet like the ground was made of shifting ash as well.

"What just happened?" she asked, her voice softer than she'd planned, not demanding, but really asking.

The woman in front of her shrugged and said, "He had another party to go to. My name's Faith."

She stuck out her hand but Amita ignored it. Instead, she reached out her own and tentatively collected a piece of ash from Faith's hair, up near her widow's peak.

"Where did all the ash come from?" Amita asked.

"I don't know. Incinerator, maybe," Faith said. "But it doesn't really matter, does it?" she asked, wrapping her hand around Amita's bicep and turning her back toward the entrance of the causeway. "Let's get you back to your dorm and all tucked in for the night."

God, Faith's grip was strong -- stronger than Don's, or Colby's, even. "Wait, wait," Amita said as Faith efficiently hustled her out of the dark enclosure. "What happened back there?"

"You really want to know?"

Amita paused, then nodded -- curiosity had always been her weakness.

Faith shrugged again. "Two guys, big talk, no real fight. Once they figured out I was going to bust their balls they took off."

That wasn't what had happened, but Amita couldn't be sure. And really, what business of it was hers? There was no crime here. No cause to call Charlie, not that she would ask him for help.

Abruptly Amita turned and started walking again. Faith kept close to her, matching her stride. "Oh, sorry," Amita said after just a few paces. "My name's Amita."

"And what's his name?" Faith asked.

"Who?" 

"The guy you're obviously having troubles with."

Amita blushed. "Charlie. But he isn't my guy."

"Is that the problem?"

Amita didn't know what to say, so she merely sighed.

"I'm told I can be a good listener," Faith said quietly. She paused under one of the lights along the walk, deliberately letting Amita to get a good look at her. Faith had large dark eyes and long hair, worn loose like Amita's. Her features were wide, animated. She had the same air that Don did though, sometimes -- like she'd seen far too much of the world, and not on her terms. She wore a jeans jacket over a darkish camisole, jeans and boots.

"Or I can be a good distraction," Faith added with a grin, her face lighting up and her cares falling away. She licked her lips and Amita . . .  Amita bit back a gasp.

A . . . a  . . . distraction? Like _that?_ She'd never tried . . . that. Never even considered it. No. She was straight, good, and respectable, and wouldn't it serve Charlie, her parents, and everyone else right if she did something like _that_ \-- proved to them all, as well as to herself, that she was no one's shadow?

"I've, ah, I've never done -- that -- before," Amita said, hesitating. Faith had dark coloring and her hair fell in long waves instead of curls, but she was bright and wild and she wasn't Charlie or Don or like any of the cute FBI agents she'd met, and . . . 

"Come on," Faith said, taking Amita's hand and leading her in another direction.

"Where are we going?" Amita asked, stumbling after her. She hadn't actually said yes, right?

But she hadn't said no either.

Amita found herself in a strange hotel lobby. She'd never noticed the place before and wasn't sure she could get there again. The lights were low and the furniture was heavy and carved, made of dark wood with faded purple velvet cushions and seats. Large black and white tiles covered the floor in a checkerboard pattern. Amita had an irrational urge to take her shoes off and spread her toes across their cool surface.

The hotel was run European style: Faith had to get her key from the surly desk clerk. Amita stayed close to the door. She didn't want the clerk to see her, to identify her -- to get the wrong idea, or even the right one. Plus, there was something wrong with the clerk, like the man in the causeway , only the fighting man had had more ridges and bones in his face while this man had loose folds of skin. Amita didn't want to look too closely. She didn't want to embarrass the man. She remembered stories her mother had told her of lepers, the words rose in her mind, "Unclean! Unclean!" But were they directed at the hapless clerk? Or toward herself?

Faith cut the man off mid-sentence, with a brusque, "Night Clem!" Then she grabbed Amita's hand, again, and pulled her toward the stairs. "Elevator's been broken since the 80's. I swear, if the Council weren't such a pack of tight fisted asses . . . " Faith muttered as they mounted the three flights of stairs at breakneck speed.

Amita let herself be hurried down a dim hall, an impression of doors, dingy red carpet, and yellow-gold wallpaper all that she was left with. Then she was in Faith's room, the door closed, the sound of the lock snicking home loud in her ears.

Faith tossed the key carelessly on the table next to the door, then started pulling off her -- admittedly pretty stylish -- leather boots. She hadn't bothered to turn on the light. A streetlight filtered in through gossamer white curtains, casting long shadows over the bed.

"Wait," Amita said. It took her two tries to get the single word out. Her mouth was dryer than the dust that surely filled every crevice of this place, and tasted like that mysterious ash.

Faith stood in her bare feet, arms akimbo, and looked at Amita, looked her over from head to toe, a long, slow appraisal that made Amita feel shy, as well as, well, noticed.

Charlie had _never_ noticed her that way -- and he never would.

Slowly Faith grinned. She started nodding her head, almost as if agreeing to Amita's thoughts.

"Naw," Faith said finally, casually stalking up to Amita. Though Faith was shorter, Amita found herself shuffling backwards until her butt hit the door. Faith didn't stop until she was pressed up against Amita, from knee to chest. Molten heat flowed effortless out of Faith, sinking deep into Amita's skin, drilling down to her bones, melting them and any resistance she might still have.

Faith stared up at Amita, her lips shiny from just having licked them, her eyes wide and dark, her smile playful, not cruel. She smelled, still, of ash. But also of sweat and hot parties, of night-blooming jasmine and exotic fragrant wood.

Amita found herself dipping her head, bending a little just to get a better whiff. Faith pushed up and Amita found she wanted a taste too, a lick of those lips, a quick shared breath . . . 

Faith's lips felt full under Amita's, firm and juicy, and god, she wanted to nibble the bottom one. Faith's taste was more wild than her scent, something untamed that Amita barely recognized. The kiss started out tentative, almost sweet, but the pressure built, both of them pushing against the other harder, fullness giving way to strength and need.

When Amita felt Faith's tongue playing along her own bottom lip, lapping gently, she finally agreed. In that split second she went from, "Maybe," to "Yes." She wrapped her arms around Faith, ground against her while Faith explored her mouth, sending thrills and shivers across her shoulders, down to the small of her back, and around through her gut, that floating, heavenly feeling. Faith cupped one of her breasts, thumbing the nipple before tugging on it gently through Amita's sweater.

Amita moaned into the kiss. She'd said, "Yes," but she didn't know what to do. So she let Faith lead, let her start unbuttoning her blouse, unhook her bra, tongue, tease and torment her nipples, each wet breath going straight to her clit which longed for the same treatment.

Though Amita had read about waves of pleasure, she'd never experienced it. She'd never had such an experienced partner before, either, one who knew how to tease and teethe her nipples, making them more and more sensitive. Unknown pleasure spiked through her, then withdrew, the tide ebbing, trickling down her taut stomach, maybe a darting lick inside her navel, then starting to rise again as Faith made her way to Amita's other nipple.

Amita hadn't known she could get that sensitive, had never had someone take the time to get to know her body so well, to drive her to the peak of just a single breath across wet skin taking her to the brink of orgasm.

But Amita didn't want to come. Not yet, not here, against the door. "Faith," she warned, her voice a broken moan.

"Wanna get more comfortable?" Faith asked with a sly grin.

Amita nodded, plopped her arms down on Faith's shoulders and leaned in for a kiss -- a kiss that started dirty and got dirtier, Faith sucking Amita's tongue into her mouth while her hands stayed busy. Her feet as well. Amita was slightly aware that they were moving but it didn't really strike her until Faith picked her up and tossed her on the bed. Faith kissed her again as she landed, kissed her more as she stripped the rest of Amita's clothes off, gave her one last drugging kiss as she whispered, "Be right back."

Amita had only started to form the question about where was Faith going when she returned with a small bag.

"Toys," she explained with a grin, tossing them onto the bed next to Amita's sprawled body. "If we want 'em later."

Without preamble Faith stripped off her shirt and bra. Her pants and panties had disappeared with the appearance of the bag.

"Now Amita, just what should I do with you?" Faith asked, a predatory smile gleaming in the streetlight casually tossed through the window next to the bed.

Amita shivered inside, trying to hold herself very, very still. This was the fighter that she'd barely glimpsed in the ally.

"I'm -- I'm not sure." Amita started to push herself up.

"Shh," Faith said, descending on her rapidly. "It's okay. It's just a game, okay?" she murmured between kisses.

Games -- Amita had never been good at any games, other than math games. But she'd always wanted to be. So she continued to say yes, to let Faith drag her under the waves again.

"Good girl," Faith said, wicked smile now coming back to play. "And good girls get rewarded." Faith situated herself between Amita's legs, one hand holding her knee, the fingers of the other teasing through her pubic curls.

"Pretty," Faith said. "But I bet it's hiding something." She pushed Amita's curls up and dove down, tongue first, finding and circling the hood of Amita's clit.

Amita couldn't help herself. She let out an involuntary shriek, her hips bucking up, pushing her closer to Faith's attack.

Faith looked up. "Shhh," she said. Her lips glistened in the pale streetlight. "Or am I going to have to gag you?" she asked playfully.

Amita shook her head, no, no gag, she didn't play those types of games. But, she couldn't help the quiver her thighs gave, the way her breath suddenly came a little quicker, the image that danced across her inner eye, a colorful scarf tied around her mouth and darker leather bits binding her wrists to the curved headboard.

"You sure?" Faith purred. She licked at Amita's clit, a series of short quick licks that drew a long, shuddering breath from Amita.

Amita nodded. "I'll be good," she promised, licking her own lips in anticipation.

When Faith dove forward again, Amita didn't even try to contain her loud yelp, or the louder moan that followed. Sensation piled fast on sensation, Faith pushing into her with her tongue, invading her, drawing out louder and louder groans and sighs. Eventually, Amita gave a whimper as Faith withdrew, grinning.

"I _am_ going to have to gag you," she said in a low, teasing voice.

Amita held herself very still. She wasn't saying yes. She _wasn't_.

But yet again, she wasn't saying no either.

Faith reached for the bag and slowly opened it, the zipper sounding loud in the quiet room. With one hand Faith reached in and drew out a long silk scarf. She trailed the tips of it slowly up Amita's bare arm, the soft material undulating.

Amita shivered and looked Faith directly in the eye, not shrinking. And strangely, not afraid.

This was something else Charlie couldn't give her. This command. This presence.

This authority.

With another shiver Amita nodded, finally saying yes.

Faith gave her another explosive kiss, a great grin, then slid the scarf into her waiting mouth, tying it to one side so Amita could lay her head back down comfortably. When Faith finished, Amita slowly raised her hands above her head, clutching the cool iron in her sweating palms.

"Good girl," Faith said kindly. Then she went to work again, making her way slowly down Amita's body, tonguing her nipples, her navel, her side, one hot spot after another, until Amita was writhing, thrusting her hips up and down, begging with her body.

Faith drew Amita's knees up, planting her feet firmly on the bed before she pounced again, licking and lapping at Amita's clit, holding her nether lips apart with her fingers, exposing Amita to her searching gaze.

Amita was getting closer and closer -- that edge just moments away, the distance halving and halving again. Then she abruptly leaped to the next level as Faith thrust two fingers into her, two fingers that started drumming inside of her, a primal beat echoing the rapid pulse of her heart. Her stomach clenched and her breathing grew shallow as the pressure built. She wanted to scream. She _needed_ to scream. She had to get away, to get release from this pleasure and torment, but Faith wasn't letting up, wasn't letting her roll away or withdraw. Faith tongued her and fingered her, pushing her, breaking her final resistance, until Amita gave that final yell and let her orgasm crash over her, wave after wave shuddering across her body as she came and came.

Amita was a little groggy when she finished, her body sated and sleepy. She felt the bed shift and realized that Faith was now laying down beside her, with an effort she opened her eyes and looked over at her.

"Well, that was a good start, don't you think? A good round one?"

Amita gave another shudder, not certain that her body or her heart could stand much more.

But she nodded. Yes. Round one it had been.

Round two coming up.


End file.
